


Something Wicked

by thechestofsilver



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Nothing actually scary just normal Halloween stuff, Raffles being a drama queen, Spooky, school days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechestofsilver/pseuds/thechestofsilver
Summary: Raffles is set on having a spooky Halloween, and wants Bunny as a companion.





	Something Wicked

I was comfortably crawled up in my favourite armchair after dinner, with a fire in the hearth and a good book in my hand, when suddenly a small piece of paper waved in front of my face. I looked up to see Oliver Walsh—a nice but timid boy in my year—peeking over the armrest.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking the note.

“It’s for you,” he said.

“From whom?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” he smiled impishly.

He looked at the note one last time, as if confirming that his mission was completed; then he was gone, and I was left staring after him in confusion. I unfolded the paper and read:

> _When shall we two meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When all is done and said—when our peers has gone to bed. That will be the strike of twelve. Where the place? Below the stairs. There to meet with McLean. –A. J._

I looked around to see if the author of the message was anywhere near, but there was no sight of him, nor of any of the older students. I read the note again. It was not uncommon for me to be called on for his nocturnal adventures—but it was the first time it had been done in such a mysterious manner. Twice more I read the message, then folded it and put it in my pocket. Nevertheless, I would be there.

 

* * *

 

Two minutes to midnight I stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs, beside the portrait of the former headmaster McLean. The hall lay dark and quiet, except for the steady tick-tock of the old clock. When the clockwork rattled I started, and held my breath as I counted the chimes.

_Three, four, five… eleven, twelve._

I nearly screamed when a hand clasped my shoulder and a huff of breath smote my cheek.

“Schhh,” Raffles laughed quietly. “We must not disturb the spirits.”

“What spirits?” I asked defiantly.

“Of the old, of course,” he said gravely.

“I’m not sure I believe in such things.”

“Oh, you will,” he whispered and took my arm. “Come on now—they’re waiting for us.”

I did not ask any more questions as he led the way up to the first floor. Slowly and close to the banisters we crept, careful not to make a sound. When we reached the top, he turned around and gestured me to keep silent, and I replied with a nod. He guided me around a corner and towards a slim door that I had never noticed before, but which proved to be hiding a spiral staircase. Raffles took my hand as we began to climb it, and I did not protest. I did not believe in spirits or ghosts, naturally—I was not a child anymore—but as we ascended through the milky darkness, utter silence closing around us, I was grateful for the steady grip around my fingers. Up, up, we went, until I wondered how far we could go. Then Raffles stopped, suddenly, and leaned in with a whisper:

“You must swear not to scream.”

I swore, in the bravest voice I could manage. A key turned, and a door swung open. I kept my promise, but gasped and pressed the hand in mine tighter; for in the dimly candlelit room in front of us, framed by a large window in the far end, the silhouette of a human body was visibly dangling from the ceiling—lifeless. My heart racing and my mouth dry, I glanced at Raffles, whose features were as if set in stone. Returning my look, he said solemnly:

“It appears that we are too late.”

“Who is it?” I whispered, breathless.

“Come see for yourself.”

As if in a trance I followed him, one step at a time—closer and closer to the horrible thing. Two feet away from the body, Raffles gently grabbed my shoulders and pushed me forward. Despite myself, I looked up, only just catching a glimpse of two blood-red eyes and a mane of dark, tangled hair; then the creature crashed to the floor and with a squeal I threw myself into the arms of my friend. He laughed quietly and stroke my back as I turned around to look at the heap of pillows, clothes, and sheets which now lay on the floor. A football decorated with what appeared to be the end of a broomstick had rolled off to the side, and two brightly coloured buttons attached to it shone in the faint light.

“Oh my God, Raffles.”

“Did you believe it?”

“Of course I didn’t.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Maybe just a little, then,” I humoured him.

Raffles chuckled and gave me one last pat on the back, before taking out a box of matches from his pocket to light the rest of the candles that had been carefully placed around the room. I found a chair and sat down, still feeling tingly from the fright, and curiously looked around. The space was narrow and round, and the high ceiling was covered with sturdy beams. Old furniture had been randomly placed and stacked, and in a corner a dusty globe stood amongst heaps of books and rolls of paper.

“What is this place?”

“I found it last year. I think it used to be a study—yes, the view is very pretty,” he added when I attempted to gaze through the large window. “I’ll take you up here sometime during daylight, and you’ll see for yourself.”

“So you come up here often?”

“Now and again. It’s the perfect place when you want to be undisturbed. Of course,” he added in a darker tone, raising a candle to his face and widening his eyes, “I should warn you—there _is_ a curse upon this room.”

I chuckled nervously.

“Oh, really?”

“Ooh, yes.” With the candle still to his face, he slowly began to move towards me. “A long time ago, terrible things happened here.”

“What terrible things?” I said, breathlessly.

“The worst you could imagine—too horrible to speak of.” He kneeled in front of me and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The walls only dare to breathe of it. I’ve heard them whisper at twilight. But on this night, if you listen closely… you will hear the wailing and the weeping of those poor souls.”

I shivered, and Raffles smiled. Then he put the candle down, and reached for a basket under the nearest table.

“But while we wait for those undead to awaken,” he said, retrieving a red apple from the basket, “I think we deserve to have a little _fête_.”

He handed me the apple, which was large and juicy, and then I watched as he unpacked several pieces of cake and a bottle of cider.

“Compliments of the kitchen,” he winked.

“What’s the reason for all this?” I could not help but ask.

“To see if the curse is real, of course,” he said seriously.

“I thought you said it was,” I teased.

“I have to make sure,” he said gravely. “And that is no business to do on your own.”

As Raffles opened the bottle, I thoughtfully put the apple to my lips. It smelled sweetly of October.

“But why me?” I asked, and he looked up.

“You’re the only one who is brave enough,” he said earnestly.

Blushing, I took a bite of the apple. Raffles’ eyes twinkled for a moment. Then he straddled the chair across from mine, and took a sip out of the bottle before handing it to me.

“Now, Bunny,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Have you heard the story of old Mr Murdoch, and his self-chopping axe?”

I had not, but I suspected I was about to.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween :)


End file.
